Best of the Blog -

These posts – the ones I’ve had the most feedback on and my favourites – will give you a sense of what my blog is about.

Postpartum depression posts:

Postpartum Rage: My Story – July 19 & 20, 2011

Imagine a time you totally lost your temper. When you were so consumed by anger you felt it as a physical thing, adrenaline racing through your body and blocking out all rational thought. When your first instinct, as though it were primal, was to throw something so it would shatter into a thousand pieces and break whatever spell had overtaken you. That’s what it felt like for me for much of my son’s first 2 1/2 years.

Becoming Real – January 2, 2012

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

I thought I wasn’t Real because I wasn’t made that way. I thought I wasn’t made to be a mother and in becoming one had lost who I truly am.

Beauty in the Breakdown – My TEDx talk

The video of my September 2011 TEDx talk.

Turn the Page – July 14, 2011 [a key part of my recovery from PPD]

Yesterday I turned a page in the book that is my life. It has felt, at times, as though this book was ripped from my hands and tossed carelessly aside, with no regard for its protective cover and certainly no respect for its contents… This book that is my life is still my book and it still contains my story. A different story than what I set out to create, but it’s still mine – accepted and embraced – and I will no longer allow others to dictate the chapters to come. I’ve turned the page.

Farewell to 2011 in Photos – December 26, 2011

A summary of my first year blogging and my PPD journey.

On Death and Doubt: A Letter to My Darkest Fear – April 22, 2011

When I embraced motherhood, I accepted fear as part of the role. I feared being a mother would be hard, that something would happen to my child, that, with all I have to give, it wouldn’t be enough. For a while I was succeeding at pushing these fears away. Then, suddenly and without invitation, on a day when it all felt like too much, you appeared – a deeper, darker fear.

Less Than Perfect – March 26, 2011

I think Pink is following me…last week I was driving home from a particularly emotional session with my therapist. I was all caught up in my own head so I didn’t notice there was a Pink song on the radio, but the lyrics in the chorus caught my attention: Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel, Like you’re less than, less than perfect. Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel, Like you’re nothing, you are perfect to me.

The Circle of PPD – March 15, 2011

This photo is what PPD feels like to me. I’ve seen other descriptions – accurate, heartbreaking waterfalls of emotion describing what it’s like to deal with postpartum depression. But this is what it feels like to me. To me, it’s actually a physical sensation. I feel it in my eyes, of all places.

Love letters:

Now You Are Three – June 13, 2011

Dear Connor, Today you turn three. I can hardly believe it. I know, that sounds trite. But as I write this on the eve of your birthday – with you asleep next door in your big boy bed (the one you insist on showing every single person who comes into the house, and the same one you never want to sleep in alone at night) – I feel a little bit stunned.

Valentines – February 14, 2011

In the eyes of the boy, I am everything. I know everything. Can do everything (except build snowmen). My kisses heal wounds. My breath in the night scares away the darkness. My hugs bring him home. I carried him then, gave him life. Nourished his body with mine. Carry him still.

Mirror Image – January 27, 2011

Yesterday. Late evening. After four wake-ups in about a 45-minute period, I give up. Put him into my bed and tell him I’ll be up in a bit. He goes right to sleep. I finish a bit of work I need to do to get ready for a busy day. When I get into bed, I find he has taken it over: I feel something small on my side of the bed and realize it’s a foot. He’s stretched out diagonally right across the middle of the bed.